


Kiss My Ass

by ciaconnaa



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Gen, also i can't feel my life, this is just stupid comedy it's not that inappropriate I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ciaconnaa/pseuds/ciaconnaa
Summary: Five times Harley Keener mooned Peter Parker......and the one time Spider-Man mooned the whole world.





	Kiss My Ass

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so fucking sorry. I was forced. it's out of my hands. blame tempestaurora 
> 
> peter & harley are both seniors and 18 years old because...that's the only way I could manage this.

**one - rose hill, tennessee**

Harley loves Rose Hill. There is honestly nothing about it that bores him. He is quite content to spend his free time holed up in the garage fixing old cars and motorcycles, hanging out with his friends at the diner his mom worked at, or even playing catch with his sister Ariel on the days she’s tolerable.

But it’s not until Peter comes to visit right before his summer break is over does he realize that mediocre, small-town places that are fifty-percent antique malls aren’t everyone’s cup of tea.

It’s after they come out of the fourth antique shop, heading to _Bobby Joe’s Diner,_ that Peter’s polite demeanor finally starts to crack. “Everything is in a five minute walking distance,” he declares, nearly knocking Ariel in the head with his purchase - a miniature painting of the town that he thought May could put on her kitchen island. “You live in Radiator Springs.”

“Don’t make my life a Disney movie,” he sniffs, holding the door for the two of them. Ariel immediately heads over to their typical booth, giving their mom a wave where she stands behind the counter.

“Hey, darlings. I’ll be over with some drinks in just a sec. Usual?” she calls. The patrons at the diner bar don’t mind her yelling.

“Yep,” Harley says, throwing his mom a two finger salute as he slides in with Ariel to spare poor Peter from having to sit next to her. “Thanks, Katie.”

_“Ma’am.”_

“Thanks, Katie-Ma’am.”

His mother rolls her eyes but smiles, heading over to the soda machine. Meanwhile, Peter is very clearly on the verge of some sort of early quarter-life crisis, both elbows on the sticky table top while his palms cup both his cheeks, squishing his lips out into a pucker. “Two days. I’ve been here two days and we’ve already done everything.”

The diner is abandoned so their mother is over in a swift moment, three drinks in her hands, and passes them around: water, water, cherry coke. Ariel is quick to rip the straw hat and suck down her soda. “Well,” Ariel says, slurping loudly. Harley elbows her to get her to stop and she sputters, a bit of coke coming out of her nose. She kicks Harley underneath the table. “Not _everything.”_

Peter snaps up to attention, desperation in his eyes. “I’ll do anything. Shoot a BB gun into an open field. Tip a cow. Fix Bobby Joe’s sign outside so when it lights up, it doesn’t say “Bo Joe’s” anymore.”

“Parker,” Harley says, taking a spare straw off the dispenser on the table and blowing the wrapper in Peter’s face. “Down here we love a good rhyme.”

“There’s a new rope swing by the lake,” Ariel says. “Cody and Lee put it up last week. We could go swimming.”

Peter frowns, balling up the paper and tossing it aside.  “I didn’t bring a swimsuit with me.”

Ariel scoffs. “You got underwear, don’t you?” Harley laughs at the look on Peter’s face.

“If you’re worried about your limited edition Captain America boxers getting ruined by the ‘icky lake water’” Harley has to pause when Peter delivers a particularly hard kick to his shin under the table, “Just go skinny dipping.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not? I do it all the time. We’ll go when no one’s around. Which is pretty much always. I can drop the rugrat home to spare her innocence.” and this time it’s Ariel that kicks him from under the table. But luckily, he’s spotted some of her school friends at another booth across the diner, and he knows he can just leave her there with no remorse.

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fun,” Harley grins.

Peter grimaces.

After they’re full of grilled cheese sandwiches the boys walk down to the lake which actually involves getting in Harley’s mustang and _driving._ When Harley points out the _variety_ he’s bringing to this trip, Peter’s groan is easily heard all the way in New York.

There’s a dock on the lake. A proper, well-structured dock. Harley would know, since he helped build it back when he was fourteen. So he has no problem running right on it, shedding his clothes in the process. “Well, come on!” Harley yells at Peter, who isn’t _having fun._ He almost loses his balance when he starts to kick the last leg off his pants off.  “The sooner you do it, the less likely you’re to chicken out.”

“Chicken out? Why would I chicken out?”

“Because the water’s _cold!”_ and with that Harley pulls down his underwear, mooning Peter for maybe half a second before he runs straight into the lake shouting _canonball!_

Harley is nearly drowning when he surfaces, choking on water in his laughter as he looks up to find Peter, still completely dressed and soaked to the bone looking like he’s _not having fun._ “I just saw….your _entire ass.”_

Needlessly, Harley splashes up some water on the dock, drenching an already drenched Peter. “How was it?”

“Pale,” Peter deadpans, slipping off his own shirt. Harley starts cheering, shouting _take it off! Take it all off!_ “Your farmer’s tan is unparalleled.”

Peter doesn’t moon him back, but it’s okay. Because he was right about the Captain America boxers.

He’s not even mad when Peter jumps in the lake and tries to drown him.

 

* * *

 

**two - midtown high, queens, new york city**

Michelle finishes the final touches on the giant sign wrapped loosely around Harley’s neck before she blandly blows a handful of gold glitter into his face, causing him to cough. “Perfect. Fairy Godmother says you’re ready for the ball.”

The ball is actually Midtown High’s Homecoming football game, an event that Peter assured couldn’t be more exciting than his sophomore year and definitely couldn’t me more uneventful than his junior year. Harley’s hoping to hit that sweet spot of _memorable fuckery_ for his senior year that’ll definitely make a page out of Peter’s yearbook.

Harley looks down at the sign: it says _SEEDLESS BANANAS ARE A CRIME AGAINST NATURAL SELECTION._ It’s just big enough to cover the shiny yellow G-string he’s wearing.

“Now, which one’s Peter?” Harley asks as he turns his back to Michelle to look out at the marching band heading out into the field for the halftime show. Cheerleaders are setting up the balloon arch off to the side for the Homecoming King and Queen nominees after said halftime show. Harley has no problem catching Ned’s maroon suit out of the pack. Maybe he'll swing by his way, too.

“Nice ass.”

“Thanks. I’ve heard it’s quite pale.”

“It is. There’s a glare.”

“Well, try and look past it to tell me _which one Peter is._ I don’t know what instrument he plays.”

“He’s the one wearing the shako with the tall shiny plume in it.”

“Ha-ha.”

“How do you not know what instrument he plays?”

“Dude, I didn’t even know he was in band until Ned told me last week. How was I supposed to know he had other hobbies? He’s kinda wrapped up in that whole spider gig.”

“Don’t I know it. Well, he’s a trombone. Second one to the right.”

“I don’t see….ah, got it. Hah. What a shrimp.”

Michelle blows another handful of glitter his way - the majority of it catches in the wind and blows back in her face. “Godspeed, Keener.”

It’s not a long wait. The band spreads out for the show and Peter is, miraculously, at the far end of the field from the start. So with a quick hop of the fence, Harley storms the field, blow horn in hand, and starts making a ruckus. He runs nearly sideways just to give the whole student body in the stands a view of his ass.

Peter recognizes him instantly and tries to trip him up with his trombone, tilting the instrument down and thrusting the slide out as far as it will go. Harley leaps over it with ease.

“Harley!” Peter yells after him as the show is effectively halted and the student body is in laughter. There are already teachers and security coming out on the field to try and apprehend him. “Get a tan, you moron!”

 

* * *

 

**three - tony stark’s lab, manhattan, new york city**

“Parker! What the hell is this!”

Harley watches as Peter finally takes off his headphones and looks over at Harley’s workspace. His mouth falls open in a shocked _oh_ before guilt scrunches up his face and panic lights up his eyes. “I didn’t hear you come in!”

Ridiculous. Harley’s been here for over twenty minutes. Peter’s got some serious tunnel vision. He wants nothing more than to go over and smack some sense into him, but he can’t. He wiggles as much as he can in his chair to make a point. “Why am I stuck. To the chair.”

“You weren’t supposed to sit there!”

“In _my_ chair?”

“I’m making new web fluid!” Peter scrambles out of his seat, knocking over a bunch of stuff in the process. As much as Tony loves Peter, he _hates_ all the chemical messes he usually brings to his lab. He’s tried to pass him off to work in Bruce’s lab but in the end, he missed him. He’s not gonna miss him so much when he sees the mess on the floor. “I’ve been trying to make my webs _stickier_ and when I was testing it I accidentally...aimed for your chair.”

Harley snorts. “Accidentally.”

Peter flounders. “I swear! But my normal disintegration formula doesn’t work on this web and it’s only been an hour so. You’re only going to be stuck...maybe another two hours, tops?”

“Nu-uh,” Harley goes full on Tony Stark and breaks out a threatening finger wag. “Fix this. Now.”

“I can’t!” Peter whines.

“You can and you will. Because I have to pee.” He stands up, the chair coming with him, and he face Peter bending at awkward angle. “You still have the webs that I’m sitting on?”

“Yeah.”

Harley nods and turns around. “Aim it at the chair and pull.”

He can hear Peter sputtering. “No! That won’t work! You’ll just come with the chair and I’ll fling you across the room.”

Fuck. Peter might be right. But then he gets an idea. “Where’s Tony?”

A few minutes later, the lab is a sight to behold. Iron Man’s got Harley by the arms and Peter’s got his webs latched on to Peter’s chair.

“Okay, on the count of three. We both tug.” Tony’s voice comes through in the suit. “That simple. Oh, but don’t break the kid.”

Peter groans. “I’ll try. One -”

“- two -”

“Three!”

It goes as well as it could have. Iron Man’s repulsor power matches Peter’s super strength and Peter’s sticky mess of a rejected web fluid fails, splitting Harley and the chair apart. He’s free. All in one piece.

Mostly.

There’s a breeze on his left buttcheek.

“Aw, man!” Harley groans, twisting his body to get a better look. The left back pocket of his jeans and the same size square of his boxers are gone, stuck to the chair. “Those were my favorite jeans, Peter.”

Peter, however, isn’t phased. He groans, rubbing at his head. “I have seen your pasty ass far too many times this year.”

“Tell me about it.”

 

* * *

 

**four - rose hill, tennessee (again)**

November in Tennessee this year means snow, snow, and more snow. When Harley’s done shoveling it around town and stuffing snow down Ariel’s back, he tries sitting down and working on his college applications.

He’d rather be shoveling the snow.

They’re mostly done, he’s just working on the letters of recommendation. The teachers at his school aren’t really his biggest fans due to the amount of time he’s spent skipping and stealing stuff from the science labs. It was never a problem in middle school when he had Mr. Davis as a teacher: he encouraged theft in the name of scientific curiosity. Too bad Harley has no idea where he went after his retirement party.

So now he has to settle for _Tony Stark._

And the man is being unbelievably slow about it.

“Okay, literally?” Harley sighs over the phone. His cell is broken and he’s swiped one of the landlines in his mother’s room, which for whatever reason, is a novelty hamburger phone. The slice of cheese digs into his cheek as he tries to yank the cord as far as it will go. “Just write whatever you wrote for Peter’s and send it to me. No one will know.”

_“MIT won’t know I sent to identical recs to their prospect students?”_

“What are you - what the fuck, no. I’m not applying to MIT.”

There’s some sort of crash in the background, which Harley lives for. He’s the chaotic force in Tony’s life. And that’s saying something considering Tony's basically Spider-Man’s dad. _“What do you mean you aren’t applying to MIT. I said I’d pay for your schooling.”_

“I know, it’s just…” he twirls the cord in one hand as he props his feet up on his mother’s desk. “MIT is far away. It’s in _Boston._ I don’t want to live in Boston.”

 _“Well,”_ Tony scoffs. _“Where_ are _you applying. And if you list a community college, I’ll send a suit over to nuke you where you_ stand. _”_

“Uhh, University of Tennessee, University of Georgia, and Georgia Tech.”

“...”

“That’s it, really.”

_“I’m gonna kill you.”_

“I didn’t list a community college.” Harley jumps a bit when there’s a knock on the window. His friend Luke is standing there with a snowball in his hand as the other points in the direction of Bo Joe’s diner. “Listen, I gotta go. But these apps are due soon. If you don’t email me it by tonight I’ll…”

_“You’ll what.”_

“Oh. You’ll see.”

Tony doesn’t send the rec. So Harley gets revenge.

Two days later, he manages to find time to video chat Peter with the preface that he has big news. “Check this out.”

He pulls down his pants just enough to reveal the _Tony Stank is my hero_ tattoo on his ass cheek.

“Noooooo,” Peter whines, grabbing at his hair. It looks like he’s contemplating slamming his laptop shut. “You did _not!”_

“I did.”

“Why!?”

“He’s being too slow on my college rec.”

“God, he’s gonna kill you.”

“But it’s funny.”

“It’s not!”

“Ohhhhh, go get Tony and it will definitely become funny.”

 

* * *

 

**five - parkers’ apartment, queens, new york city**

_“WHAT THE FUCK!”_

Harley barely manages to remember a towel as he runs out of the shower at the sound of Peter’s screams. Peter doesn’t really _scream_ on account of he’s a _superhero_ so Harley full expects to find the actual devil or something in the kitchen.

Instead, Peter’s on the ceiling, a rolled up magazine in his hand.

“Harley!” Peter hisses. He looks around, but he doesn’t see anything. The apartment is empty.

“Dude, what is it?” He focuses on making sure the knot on the towel is good before he swipes a hand through his hair; he had been in the middle of shampooing it. There are suds everywhere. “Why did you scream, what’s going on?”

“Spider!”

“What the…” he follows to where Peter is pointing.

There’s a spider on the fridge.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

“I don’t _like_ spiders,” Peter whines. His grip on the magazine is lethal.

“You yourself are a giant spider.”

“I am not!”

“You’re sticking to the fucking _ceiling!”_

“Oh my god, whatever!” Peter cries. “Make fun of me all you want just-” He tosses the magazine down at Harley’s feet. “Kill it!”

Harley rolls his eyes and leans over to pick up the magazine. He unrolls it before he sets it on the counter and starts going through the cabinet for a glass, and when he’s selected his favorite one he slaps it on the fridge and waits.

“You can come down now,” Harley deadpans, watching as the spider crawls into the glass. Peter’s feet hit the floor just as Harley reaches for the magazine and lays it on top like a lid. “Okay, now take him outside.”

“No.”

“Just go out on the terrace and shake him out, he’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“Peter.”

“I told you to kill it.”

“What’d it ever do to you? Besides, I can’t kill spiders. They’re a part of you.”

“I am _not_ part spider.”

“Okay, _Spider-Man.”_ But Harley lets the matter drop. He takes the glass and heads over to the living room window where he, bravely might he had, lets the spider back out.

When he’s closing the window, the towel starts to slip, just a bit.

“Please,” Peter begs as Harley saves his modesty and pulls the towel back up, knotting it tighter. “Just please. Stop showing me your ass.” There’s a pause. “Wait, I thought you got that heinous tattoo, where _is it.”_

“It’s there,” Harley lies. It’s not there. It was a fake. He only ever told Rhodey the truth. But he’s not gonna cave now.

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is. Come closer, I’ll show you -”

“Absolutely not. Go finish your shower.”

 

* * *

 

**one - times square, manhattan, new york city**

Harley is there on a rare occurrence that Spider-Man makes the news outside Queens.

It seems he got his new web fluids working and boy, are they _sticky._ The news coverage shows Spider-Man being dragged by a rogue van several blocks from Queens over the bridge to Manhattan. Why he didn’t just let go...Harley doesn’t know what bank robbers are worth that kind of rug burn, but hey, he’s not the one with the super powers.

“Wow, fancy meeting you here,” Harley says, pulling Peter up to his feet once the fight is said and done and Peter has the crooks apprehended. Surely the cops are on their way.

“God, that was rough,” and Harley can picture the wince on Peter’s face underneath his mask. “I got dragged for days. I can’t feel my butt.”

“Tragic.”

A couple of feet away, there’s a few high school aged girls snickering. That’s nothing new, but they’re specifically pointing at _Spider-Man_ and snickering.

Peter’s ears pick up on it before Harley can say something. He whirls around to find the girls still laughing, their phones out and posed for taking pictures and videos.

“What, what’s so funny?”

Harley looks down and sees that Peter’s Grand Theft Auto chase has completely destroyed his suit. Well. A very particular part of it. No wonder Peter can’t feel his butt.

“Dude,” Harley snickers. “Your whole ass is out.”

Peter doesn’t not look like like a dog trying to chase his tail as he peeks at his own backside. “My whole?... _oh my god,”_ And Peter jumps to stand flush against the nearest wall. “Oh my god! My whole ass is out!”

“Jesus you weren’t kidding when you said you were dragged from Queens to Manhattan. How did you stay on your butt the whole time?”

Harley’s questions are rudely unanswered. “Give me your hoodie.”

He pulls on said hoodie, looking down at the words _Chattanooga State Community College._ “This is my favorite sweatshirt. I specifically ordered it to piss Tony off.”

“Give it!”

“I don’t want your bare ass touching my favorite sweatshirt.”

_“Don’t make me web you to a wall!”_

“And risk exposing your behind to the world? You’d never.”

He can’t see it because of the mask but he’s pretty sure Peter’s going to combust from pure humiliation so he decides to spare him and shrugs off his favorite hoodie, passing it over to Spider-Man. He’s quick to tie it around his waist.

“How fashionable. Loving the new look.”

“I literally hate you so much.” He looks back at the girls who are still giggling, but their faces are glued to their phones. “How bad do you think this will be?”

Harley snorts, grabbing his phone out of his patched jeans pocket (they were his FAVORITE jeans) and scrolling through his Instagram feed. He finds the best pic and shows Peter. “Your bare ass already has 854 likes. Wait.” He refreshes the page. “965.”

“Harley.”

“Wait.” He refreshes the page. “1,008. Man, this is gonna go viral.”

Peter groans.

But Harley isn’t completely evil. He offers some sympathy in his time of need. “At least they can’t tell if you have a bad farmer’s tan.”

Spider-Man webs him to the wall anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont ship them i just have the humor of a 12 year old so yeah.
> 
> butts.


End file.
